No Place to Go Except Close
by saketini
Summary: Canonverse, April 1977. Cold War Rusame with a spy date.


_Contribution to the Rusame Tumblr Cold War Exchange._

_Chapter one is the original work. Chapter two is going to be the NSFW continuation._  
><em>Because spy kisses.<em>

_The title is pilfered from a quote by F. Scott Fitzgerald. _

* * *

><p><em>Dallas, Texas - April 1977<em>

They were whispering to each other. Matching faces with mismatched eyes tilted down towards something in the Canadian's lap. The final meeting had been ineffective and was edging close to the 3pm lull when attendees began to think more about their dinner plans than the agenda. He could excuse the twins' behavior with boredom, but he wouldn't.

America pointed at whatever they were looking and Russia watched the word _red _curl across his tongue.

Now they were giggling to each other.

_Probably not code if he's being that obvious. Meant to be an insult?_

He caught his frown before it began to show on his face. Germany, sitting on America's opposite side, had begun to show interest in their conversation. He tilted in and squinted down. Two calm blinks and he looked up, trying to catch his own brother's eye. Unfortunately for him, Prussia was to Russia's side and he met the wrong gaze. Two more calm blinks and Germany turned back to the speaker at the podium. His jaw looked tight on his face.

The speaker rambled on but the giggling had stopped.

He looked up and saw America was smiling at him. The light caught on his glasses, obscuring his eyes, but they likely complimented the bright hollow grin he wore. He smiled back as the current speaker summed up her final thoughts.

_"Bored?" _was mouthed to him across the table.

Russia shook his head minutely. Planning and whispering and plotting wet red thoughts. He liked this game.

He turned to his own German.

"Dinner tonight, with the others at the Chinese place you liked," he said.

_Meet at the East hotel entrance while the others are eating. Bring your notes. _

Prussia grumbled but clearly understood the message. The next speaker took to the podium and began his speech. Russia ignored the words, already knowing the rehearsed and approved theme. He could hear a certain someone tapping his shoe impatiently against the floor as he eyed the clock. His voice had likely carried across the table.

—

America wasn't there, but if he had been, he would have complained that it wasn't dark or raining. _Ambiance_ was too large of a word, but _mood_, _scene _or _setting _would fall from his lips. You couldn't exchange secrets in brightly lit entrances, he would explain. Excitedly. With hand gestures. Hollywood smile and matching thoughts. Those sorts of things always happened in the corners, dark and damp. Unless they were whispered by English spies with rounded vowels as they slid though parties.

_Then the bad guys get shot. Bang. Cargo 200. A star on the wall. Depends._

Russia sighed at his watch as he stood in the brightly lit entrance. He could see Prussia stomping down the hall.

_Late._

"Are we getting food after this for real? I'm starving and West offered to —"

You really couldn't do subtle with Prussia. His stomach was leading his thoughts beyond the task at hand. He also apparently hadn't eaten earlier as had been implied in the invitation.

The rest of the group was down the hall in the restaurant. Enjoying a catered dinner with silverware chiming against porcelain. A loud laugh carried, grating against the music. Rounded vowels shouted back in reproach.

"Join the others in a bit," he tucked on a smile. "Work first. What were they looking at?"

"Who?"

"The North Americans. Canada had something in his lap."

"Wasn't he talking to Mexico?"

"What?"

"After the meeting, they were both talking to Mexico."

_Dorogoy. _

"During the meeting," he clarified.

"Dunno. You're the one watching him," Prussia shrugged and looked down the hall.

"Go to dinner."

_Ask._

More grumbling but definite understanding and he marched away. Russia stayed in his entrance, watching the staff as they came and went. Catering to expensive taste through their work. He waved over the concierge and requested they call his local contacts. Meetings done, the conference was over. They would get him to his embassy across the border via the usual channels.

An itinerary was promised to him the next day with breakfast. He went upstairs to pack but wasn't able to fall asleep until the early hours of the morning. Annoyed and restless he turned under the sheets.

As promised, the short Romanian man who arrived unannounced with his coffee slid an envelope with a boarding pass and passport across the table.

"The Belarusians have advised your sister offered to go in your place."

"Not needed. Personal matter."

"Noted. Any changes will be given to you in person while en route. Otherwise, your hotel information will be provided at the usual dead drop at your destination."

Their conversation turned towards the weather as a waitress approached, and pattered through the mundane until Russia vacated his seat.

—

The flight was crowded and noisy but blessedly short. Soon after takeoff, however, the passenger beside him was swapped for another. Dull hair, mild expression, and an average build. Suitably forgettable. The new arrival tapped the armrest between them by way of introduction.

"Unscheduled," the other said softly.

"Iron?"

"Yes. Jones."

"Jones?"

Russia resisted the desire to quirk his brow.

"Off radar. Found his friend singing in a Chinese restaurant bathroom just outside Dallas."

_Target missing. Unscheduled ironclad meeting to address plan to relocate and trail America. Agent found bound and unconscious but alive. Weapon will have been confiscated and — _

"Chinese?"

"Thought it was atypical. Probably meant to be random."

_No. Annoyed he didn't know what I meant and making a point._

"You're probably right," he said instead. "Resolving where?"

"Football game. Estadio Azteca, Mexico City. Today at four."

A ticket was passed to him along with the implicit understanding that he would meet the new contact onsite. The operative left to use the restroom but didn't return, likely having hidden away in a different cabin.

When they landed, Russia went to the dead drop location before following the new instructions. It was a corner locker, three down and two across, in a lesser used wing of the airport. One of the cleaning staff had offered it's use in exchange for cash. While not much, it had proven useful for small drop offs.

Hotel key and reservation in hand, he made his way by taxi to the stadium. At four o'clock sharp, his date fell into the seat beside him.

"I wasn't aware that you frequented any Chinese restaurants in Austin."

"A few," America grinned a genuine smile but his eyes were still covered, this time by dark-tinted aviators. "We had fun. I'll invite you next time."

He laughed at his own joke but still patted the Russian's hand affectionately.

"We may have different definitions of fun," he was relaxed enough to let his frown show with his reply.

"This is fun. And he was easy to catch. Send a better one next time."

"I might but I'm keeping the one you sent. She has a pretty face."

The younger huffed and slid down in his seat. He began to pat his pockets for a lighter, looking for a cigarette to hide his pout. Russia leaned over and removed his sunglasses to interrupt him.

"Annoyed?"

Bright eyes refused to meet his own and glared down into the stands below them. Players stretched on the field in unison as they warmed up and the crowed chattered excitedly in the background.

"Only when you're bribing my sergeants with cigars and pretty blonde wives."

"Ah, but we've agreed that one wasn't me."

"_That one_ wasn't a sergeant."

Not finding what he wanted, and actually very annoyed, America turned his attention to getting his sunglasses back. Fingers pinched up Russia's arm in a search for nerves. Digging twists into the wrist and elbow as they trailed ulnar weakness.

"You could just ask," Russia said.

"Not really."

He wondered if that had been double speak.

_Not really, we don't do that anymore?_

_—this way is more fun?_

_—I know you won't tell me anyway?_

He could just ask.

Russia gave up the glasses, setting them in the other's lap so he could catch his wandering hand. He ran his thumb over the backs of warm sun kissed knuckles.

_Callused. Working on a project. Oh—_

"Now what were you giggling about in the meeting?"

"Canada's redoing his kitchen in Toronto. Paint colors."

"Paint colors," he repeated in monotone.

"Yeah, one of the swatches was called _Prussian Blue,_" he laughed happily. "I asked him what they would call red."

_Red velvet, red apple, redcoat._

"And the agent who was supposed to be here instead of you?"

"Singing. He doesn't have anything useful though. Made him think we have plans in Spain's election."

The younger scanned the crowd before leaning in, tucking his head into the secure curve of Russia's shoulder. A breeze made blond, strawberry-scented hair tickle against skin where his scarf had loosened. He thought about asking if he wanted to move somewhere quieter or more private. Enjoyed the thought. The hotel key weighted heavily in his pocket and he squeezed the hand he still held.

_No, this part. This part is almost normal. _

No place to go except close.


End file.
